


Police Photo Number 203208

by AThrace



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 19:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15007694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AThrace/pseuds/AThrace
Summary: Alt Universe“HEY.” Thompson shouted, putting himself between them. The woman flicked her eyes toward Maggie and walked over. She moved like a storm, focused and blown apart all at once.“You must be new.” She said. Maggie wanted to wipe the mascara from her cheeks, the bruise from her jawline.“Alexandra Danvers, police photo number 203208, nice to meet you.”Maggie blinked and uncrossed her arms. She was trying to keep an eye on the burly man who was gesturing wildly and yelling at her TO.“Booking usually takes a few hours, and I have an exam at noon.” Alex gestured to the car door, impatient—“Are you going to unlock that, or what?”





	Police Photo Number 203208

Maggie sits at a red light in her unmarked police car, waiting to turn onto the highway. Another storm is blowing in, and she idly flicks on her wipers to brush the flurries away. Beside her, on the passenger seat, sits a paper bag with a vial of cocaine inside it. The dealer they’d busted at National City High admitted it was cocaine, and yet Maggie has to waste half her day taking it to the state lab so that someone in a white coat can tell her what she already knows.

She fiddles with the button of the dispatch radio just in time to hear the fire department being sent to _Rumor_ for an explosion. Probably a heating duct; the nightclub is old enough for its internal structure to be falling apart. Maggie tries to remember where the broiler is located at _Rumor_ , and wonders if they’ll be lucky enough to come out of that kind of situation without anyone hurt. The staff should be setting up for the club doors to open sometime around seven pm.

_Shots fired…_

The light turns green, but Maggie doesn’t move. The discharge of a gun in _Rumor_ isn’t exactly rare – but, at 4pm? It’s rare enough that Maggie narrows her attention to the voice on the dispatch radio, waiting for an explanation.

_Rumor…back up units…multiple shots fired…_

The dispatcher’s voice is getting faster, more intense. Maggie wheels the car in a U-turn and starts toward Rumor with her lights flashing. Other voices begin to transmit in static bursts: officers stating their positions, the on-duty supervisor attempting to coordinate manpower. The voices are knotted and tangled, blocking one another so that everything and nothing is being said at once.

 _Signal 1000_ , the dispatcher says. _Signal 1000._

In Maggie’s entire career as a detective, she’s only heard that call twice. Once was in Gotham, when a man high on PCP took two officers hostage. Once was in National City, the result of an undercover operation that had gone south too quickly for Guns and Gangs to run an extraction.

Signal 1000 means that everyone, immediately, is to get off the radio and leave it free for dispatch. It means that whatever they are dealing with is not routine police business.

No one speaks about it, but Maggie knows that there are special units, special police forces, for the things that go bump in the night. There was one in Gotham, and she would bet her badge that there is one in National City.

Chaos is a constellation of scantily clad bartenders and dancers spilling onto Main Street, where cars have shifted and spun leaving tire tracks in the snow. Chaos is TV cameras in your face, not enough ambulances, not enough officers.

Maggie pulls halfway onto the sidewalk and grabs her bulletproof vest from the back of her car. Already, adrenaline is pulsing through her, making the edges of her vision swim and her sense sharpen. She finds Chief O’Rourke standing with a megaphone in the middle of the melee. 

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet,” the chief says. “SSD is on its way.”

Maggie doesn’t give a damn about the Specialized Science Division. By the time they arrive, a hundred more shots could be fired, someone might be killed. She draws her gun. “I’m going in.”

“The hell you are. That’s not protocol.”

“I don’t know your protocol yet,” Maggie winks, “You can fire me later.”

As she races up the steps into _Rumor_ she is vaguely aware of two patrol officers bucking the chief’s commands and joining her in the fray. Maggie directs them each down a different hallway, and then pushes herself through the double doors and into the main bar area.

The room is dark, with light streaming in from a few slotted windows near the ceiling. There’s a runway in the center of the floor, and two catwalks above it. Fire alarms blare so loudly that Maggie has to strain to hear the gunshots. The rat-a-tat-tat sounds like machine gun fire. Something automatic.

Maggie holds her gun level, and paces the edge of the room, her heart beating through every edge of her skin. Liquor bottles have been shot open behind the bar. Glass and shell casings crunch beneath her boot. She clears the room, and then the men’s bathroom.

She nudges open the women’s bathroom door; a boot is just barely visible. Holding her breath, she swings open the door and levels her gun…at Alex fucking Danvers.

“Are you serious?” Maggie growls, holstering her gun and swinging the door shut. Alex is sitting beneath the sink, her head tipped back against the wall.

Maggie crouches and runs her fingers up Alex’s neck to feel for a pulse. She slaps her cheeks a few times. “Danvers.”

Alex moans, “Yeah?”

“Danvers.” Maggie says again, reaching up to grab a palm full of water. She dumps it down on the girl’s upturned face causing her to sputter awake.

“What the actual _fuck_.” Alex says, shifting forward to her hands and knees and shaking out her hair.

  
“Yeah, that was my question.” Maggie says.

Alex looks up at her, takes in the badge and the vest, the slant to Maggie’s eyes. “I guess you’re not here for me then, huh?” She breathes out, sitting back on her heals and pressing a palm to her forehead. The room spins.

“No.” Maggie says as she pulls apart the velcro on her vest.

“Shame,” Alex looks up at her from the floor, eyes just a little glassed over, “you _are_ my _favorite_ Rookie officer— my lady in blue.” 

Maggie glances over at her, unimpressed. “Detective, Danvers, I’m a detective.”

Alex stands and turns on the sink and ducks her head beneath the faucet. “For a detective, you spend a lot of time picking up drunks.” She says, through a mouth full of water.

Maggie tugs the vest over her head and holds it out to Alex. “Put this on,” she says.

Alex just stares at it. Maggie rolls her eyes and reaches up to pull it over Alex’s head. She settles it over her shoulders and begins velcroing the sides closed. Alex is wearing a leather skirt and strip of fabric that hangs from her neck, exposing her entire back and slides—Maggie thinks it barely passes as a shirt.

Alex has what looks like a scrape, which extends from the underside of her left breast down toward her stomach. Maggie lets her hand brush against the exposed skin as she pulls the vest tight. There are three bite marks along her shoulder, one delineated in dried blood.

The first time Maggie met Alex she had been on her first ride along with the NCPD. She had just been transferred from Gotham and was painstakingly working her way through rounds with a Training Officer. The call had come in around three am. She still remembers it, the exasperation in the dispatcher’s voice—

_Unit 407, disturbance at Rumor, drunk and disorderly—one woman, one man, police presence requested._

Her TO, Officer Thompson, had laughed, “You’re in for a treat Detective,” he said as he flicked on the lights and spun the police car around.

_This is 407, we’re in route._

When they arrived on scene the fight had moved outside. A woman was ducking beneath a swing from a burley guy. She was fast, and quickly sent an elbow right into the guys gut knocking him back a few steps. Her auburn hair swung around her in a fan, as she flicked her gaze toward Maggie and Thompson.

“Ah, backup,” she said with a wink. Her teeth were stained with blood.

Maggie shut her car door and leaned against the car, watching as Thompson approached the fight.

“Hey,” Thompson said. The guy had wrapped a hand around the girl’s arm, his entire fist closed around her bicep. She spun in his grasp and swung her palm up into his nose, causing him to release her and back away gasping.

“HEY.” Thompson shouted, putting himself between them. The woman flicked her eyes toward Maggie and walked over. She moved like a storm, focused and blown apart all at once.

“You must be new.” She said. Maggie wanted to wipe the mascara from her cheeks, the bruise from her jawline.

“Alexandra Danvers, police photo number 203208, nice to meet you.”

Maggie blinked and uncrossed her arms. She was trying to keep an eye on the burly man who was gesturing wildly and yelling at her TO.

“Booking usually takes a few hours, and I have an exam at noon.” Alex gestured to the car door, impatient—“Are you going to unlock that, or what?”

Maggie opened the door for her, and Alex slid in and sprawled herself across the backseat. Maggie leaned into the car—“Did you just arrest yourself for me?” She asked, pulling her set of cuffs from her belt.

“Yeah sure, making your job easier, thank you for your service—etcetera, etcetera.” Alex pushed herself into a seated position, and ducked her head in a gesture that seemed strikingly vulnerable, “No handcuffs please.”

Maggie regarded her, “No handcuffs,” she agreed placing the handcuffs back into her belt.

Alex glanced up, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips before she pressed them together. “Thanks Rookie,” she said laying herself down across the back seat.

Maggie blinked and shut the door, bewildered.

Thompson walked back over and popped open the trunk. He pulled out a blanket and then walked around to spread it over Alex, who had already passed out. They loaded back into the car and flicked off the lights.

“Come on Sawyer, your unofficial training has officially begun.” Thompson said, smiling.

_Dispatch this is 407, issue at Rumor has been contained, we’re signing off for the night, going to show Sawyer a few high crime areas and then come back in._

_Roger that 407, stay safe._

Thompson drove them around for a few hours, explaining protocol and pointing out various intersections and the people on them. But Maggie kept flicking her eyes to the rearview mirror, checking on the woman in the back. She’d curled into the seat, face obscured by a mane of hair.

“Careful kid—she’ll break your heart, she breaks mine every time I see her.” He said, as he pulled up to an apartment building. “Wait here.”

Maggie watched as Thompson stepped out, opened up the back doors and gently, gently, pulled Alex out and pointed her in the direction of what Maggie assumed was her apartment building. She swayed for a second, and then padded her way toward the entrance. They watched as she fishes out a key and lets herself in.

“That protocol, sir?”

“Yeah, Sawyer, let’s call that protocol.”

Now, standing in the grimy light filtering into _Rumor_ ’s bathroom, Alex reaches for Maggie’s elbow.

“Um, how drunk am I?”

Maggie pinches the bridge of her nose.


End file.
